


hold my hand (i'll walk with you, my dear)

by Hell_Stark, soniclipstick (veriscence)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cap_Ironman Reverse Bang Challenge, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Rough Sex, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hell_Stark/pseuds/Hell_Stark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: Tony Stark is twenty, a genius, and a train wreck. When another one of his crazy rendezvous end up dropping Stark Industries stock points, his CEO Pepper decides something needs to be done, and hires an escort to play fake boyfriend to add some stability to his name and reputation.Steve Rogers came home from Afghanistan a year ago, and is just looking for a quiet part-time job while waiting for college acceptance letters. When his friend Natasha asks him to take on a job for her security company, he figures, how hard could it be?Edit: Now beta'd and with an extra 1k words.





	hold my hand (i'll walk with you, my dear)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art For "Hold My Hand (I'll Walk With You, My Dear)"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708433) by [Hell_Stark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hell_Stark/pseuds/Hell_Stark), [soniclipstick (veriscence)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick). 



> Thank you to Hell_13th for giving me such a wonderful piece of art to work with, I had so much fun writing this, even if the story kind of dragged me places I wasn't originally happy to go. 
> 
> Thanks to Rachel for the awesome beta! 
> 
> Title's from the Of Monsters and Men song "Little Talks"

“Sir, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, may I remind you that you are going to be woefully late?” JARVIS’s voice sounds like a combination of amused and annoyed that he must have picked from Rhodey.

Tony Stark is in his workshop at Stark Tower. He’s working on his new phone prototype, and his AI and his older siblings, the bots, are trying to convince him to move his ass. YOU has taken to playing an alarm clock every passing minute; Butterfingers, thankfully, hasn’t done anything so far, and is therefore Tony’s favourite child. DUM-E, on the other hand, is now attempting to clean him before the gala by smacking him in the face with a dusty mop. “Hey, start googling City College because that’s where you’re headed pal, you hear me?”

DUM-E hits him again. “That’s it. I’m send you to work with the interns. Yes, Harley and Peter. And you know how often things explode in their lab.”

DUM-E stops.  

“A voice message is coming in from Ms. Potts,” JARVIS answers. “Playing now.”

“Tony, it is,” Pepper pauses to likely look at the time, “Five pm on Saturday evening and you’re expected at the hotel by seven, latest. You should be in the shower, but you’re probably in your lab, ignoring your messages, and I just want to remind you that this is the Maria Stark Foundation, _your_ foundation. If you want people to sponsor your charity, then you need to be there telling them why. Get in the shower, and get there, or I’ll replace all your coffee with decaf. I’ll see you soon.”

“J, tell Pep she’s being a mother hen and send her a gif from _Chicken Run_.”

“I’ll do that, Sir.”

“You’re not going to do that, are you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Fine. Well, this update will take a few hours, so ping me when you’re finished. I guess a shower wouldn’t hurt.”

“Good idea, Sir.”

“Idea, he says, like I have a choice here,” Tony grumbles, using Butterfingers to prop himself up. He pats DUM-E on the camera, leaving him to preen as he takes the winding stairs up to the residential part of Stark Tower’s penthouse. He stops in the open kitchen to pour himself a drink from the minibar and that’s when Tony notices him. “Intruder alert, J, you gotta be kidding me.”

“Mr. Rogers has been allowed access to the penthouse, he’s not an intruder.”

“Hi,” big, blonde and beautiful says, holding out his hand towards Tony. Tony stares at it, unimpressed. After an awkward moment, the stranger drops his hand.

“Nope, I would know if I allowed someone this gorgeous access, really. No way I’d forget this. So, who are you with? _The Daily News? BuzzFeed_? No, not the _Bugle_ ; you look too content in life to be working for JJ. How did you convince JARVIS to give you penthouse access?”

“I don’t even know who JARVIS is. I’m Steve.” There’s a blush on that pearly white skin and oh, Tony wants to eat him for dessert. Or be eaten for dessert, both works. “I’m from Delta Security and Escorts.”

“The voice you just heard? That wasn’t in your head. JARVIS is Just A Rather Very Intelligent System – my AI. J, say hi.”

“Hello, Mr. Rogers.”

“Hi JARVIS.”

Then it hits Tony. “Wait a second? Did you say escorts? I don’t need to hire a date to the gala.” This stinks of his idiot nerds. “Is this Harley and Peter’s work? I can’t believe I have to fire 15-year-olds, those little shits.”

“Ms. Potts hired me.” Steve takes out an old battered looking phone and shows him an e-mail from Pepper with direction and entry codes to the Tower. “I was personally vetted by Mr. Hogan.”

“J, call Pepper.”

The phone rings for two rounds, and Pepper picks up. “Tony—”

“Did you hire me a stripper?”                                                                                                

She takes a long-suffering breath. “I did precisely the opposite of that. Remember your _interview_ with Christine Everhardt? It dropped the company stock by fifteen points. Nobody is going to take us seriously as a company if you keep streaking naked through parking garages.”

“It was one time! And I wasn’t naked.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot about your socks. Steve’s going to lend you some respectability. He’s been hired for the next six months, with a possible extension. And he’s trained to provide extra security. I’ve prepared a press release for tomorrow morning. You just started dating and you’re taking things slow.”

“Oh, does that come with benefits?”

“Tony, do you remember Natasha from the old security team in Miami? This is her company. And Steve is a personal friend of hers. The man’s a vet and doing us a huge favour. Be thankful, and behave.”

“Natasha Romanoff? The same one who stabbed me?”

“The same one who gave you an EpiPen shot when you were having an anaphylactic attack.”

“Fine. Fine,” Tony says. First off Natasha is kind of terrifying, secondly, while he knows he’s been kind of a shitty partner; Pepper was his dad’s PA, and the only one who’s been firmly on Tony’s side this entire time. He’s let her down enough lately. “Wait, how long do I have to keep up this charade?”

“At least six months, and then we’ll see how we’re doing. I have to go, Tony. I’ll see you in a couple hours. Oh, and someone should be bringing up Steve’s suit soon. Bye Tony, I love you.”

“Love you too.” The connection ends. Tony sizes up the paid-for not-booty. “How much is she paying you? If you fuck off, I’ll pay you double that.”

“No thanks, I’ll do the job I was paid for,” Steve replies.

“Triple? Quadruple?”

“I’m fine.”

“You _are_ fine, but Jesus — what’s your price?” Tony is self-aware enough to know he’s being a dick, but he’s curious to see how long it will take Steve to break.

His nose flares, and it looks like he’s about to walk off, and then instead, he takes a deep breath and freezes Tony with his eyes. They’re a startling shade of blue. “Not everyone has a price, Mr. Stark.”

“Nuh-uh, everybody’s got a price. Mr. Stark was my dad. I’m Tony,” he begins to walk up the staircase to his bedroom, pulling of his socks from one step to the next. “Oh, is it sex?”

He wonders how much of Steve’s face is red now. When he looks back to see Steve following him, he gets his answer: all of it. “ _Oh_ , is it?”

“What? No, we don’t sleep with our clients.”

“Oh no, are you straight? That’s so sad.”

Rogers sighs. “My sexuality is none of your concern, Mr. Stark. If you don’t get ready soon, you’ll be late to your own gala. And then Ms. Potts won’t be happy.”

“The reporters are going to think we have something kinky going on if you keep calling me Mr. Stark.”

Steve blushes again. “Sorry. Tony.”

“Urgh. Fine. J, text Pepper, tell her she’s fired.”

“Can you actually do that?” Steve asks.

Tony says “Yes” the same time JARVIS says “No.”

“JARVIS, you’re disowned, I’m sending you to city college with DUM-E.”

Steve looks like he can’t decide between laughter and freaking out, which makes no sense. It’s not like Tony’s anything short of perfectly reasonable.

“Fine, you, sit there and try to look less like the statue of David. If Pepper calls again, tell her she’s fired.” Tony downs his drink, places the tumbler on the nightside table, and begins to undress. He shrugs off his shirt, then throws it towards the hamper. He turns his back to Steve. Fake boyfriend or not, he doesn’t need to show off his scars to a stranger, especially one who looks like an actual Adonis.

Tony showers, dresses, and sneaks out to the second door leading to the second set of winding stairs back down to the living room. He makes it as far as the front door to the penthouse before he finds his tall, light and handsome shadow there, leaning against the door and smartly dressed in a three-piece suit. Pepper’s stooges must have come in with it. “Going somewhere?”

“Yes, actually,” Tony tells him, fiddling with his cufflinks, “And you’re making me late.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, then opens the door for him.

-

Steve Rogers hasn’t yet decided on whether Tony Stark is annoying or amusing. When he’d agreed to help out Natasha and Clint’s security escort organization, it was mainly to have something to do while he waited on answers from the art colleges he’d applied to. For eight years, the government had told him what to eat, when to sleep and where to go. Now that he has the freedom to do what he wishes and the free time to do so, he realises he hasn’t got a clue where to begin.  

So when Steve had gone to Nat and Bucky’s house for Sunday family dinner, and Nat had handed him Tony’s file, he’d been curious. Clint and Phil -- Natasha’s partners at Delta Security and Escorts -- had both vetoed dealing with Tony. Better put, Phil had vetoed it for both him and Clint. (“Your combined proclivity for explosions will give me ulcers in a week. You’re staying far away, Clint.”)

Steve had figured, why the hell not? Tony was a rich, playboy genius billionaire. He could do this. He’d read the file and then signed the contract by the end of dinner.

Tony Stark is the son of the late Howard and Maria Stark. His parents had died in a car crash when he was sixteen years old. He has been kidnapped fifteen times in his short twenty years on Earth, culminating with in a three-month stint in Afghanistan playing the star role of POW. After his return six months ago, his godfather and CFO Obadiah Stane has been found to be the cause for nearly half his kidnappings, including the most recent one. After Stane had been sentenced to life in prison, Tony’s new mission in life was to stop building weapons, and apparently to sleep with every celebrity in the world, male, female or variations thereupon. The most recent of these had been a _Vanity Fair_ reporter who’d left him stranded in a Manhattan hotel with nothing, not even his clothes.

According to the current CEO, Pepper Potts, Tony needs a change in image. Steve had thought he could use a change in character as well, and had told his friends just that. “He’s not a bad person, Steve. He just needs to get his head on straight, and maybe this will help him with that.”

Bucky’s obviously biased. After all, this is the owner of the company who provides all US Veterans with free prosthetics and covers all their medical bills. Without Stark Industries, Bucky would probably still be on a VA waiting list, hoping he’d get a 10-year-old model if he’s lucky. But Bucky is his best friend and that means Steve is a bit biased too. Stark really can’t be _that_ bad.

-

Things had been fine in the car ride over, even if Tony had made it clear that he didn’t need to hire a date. He’d ignored the fact sheet that Steve had tried to hand him. “I’m only doing this for Pepper, okay? I can get a date all by myself.” Tony opens the minifridge. “What’s your poison?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Suit yourself,” Tony says, and pours himself four fingers of bourbon. “Cheers!”

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Steve blurts out, because he’s pretty sure that Tony’s not.

“Sure, I am,” he replies, taking a sip. “In Canada.”

“Last I checked, New York City is still a part of the United States.”

“I’ve been making weapons since I was five years old, but I’m not allowed to drink. America, everyone.”

“You don’t make weapons anymore, though.” Steve says. It’s unfortunate, because so many of the things that saved his life in Afghanistan had Stark Industries emblazed on them.

“Wow, you don’t live under a rock, see I’m already getting to know you without the fact sheet.”

They’d walked into the building holding hands, and everything had been fine. They’d been cordial, until five minutes in, and he’d lost Tony to a pair of girls. He takes a deep breath and follows him. “Tony, honey, I was just wondering where you’d gone off to,” Steve asks, putting on as much charm as possible. He’s not the best at stealth, but it shouldn’t be hard to convince the pair, who sway like their veins were pumping more alcohol that blood at the moment.

“We didn’t mean to take you from your adorable date, Tony! You two have a great time!” They blow him air kisses and leave.

“Well, there goes my chances of having a threesome with those two tonight,” Tony pouts. “You’re such a cockblock. Are you at least going to put out?” Even as he says it, Steve sees Ms. Potts in a shiny green dress over Tony’s shoulders.

“For the last time, Tony; no, he isn’t.” Tony straightens his back, wincing comically before turning around.

“Pepper! Woah, look at you! I was so sure you’d turn up channeling a Clinton-esque pantsuit. Don’t get me wrong. That would have been cool too—”

“I really shouldn’t be surprised by you,” Pepper tells him. “But be nice to Steve, please.”

“Did JARVIS tell you that —”

“— that I’m fired? He sure did. There’s a board meeting at nine in the morning on Monday, so don’t be more than thirty minutes late.” She leans in to press red lipstick against Tony’s cheek. “You look nice. Get home in one piece and eat something that isn’t coffee or a smoothie.”

“Okay fine.” 

“Or alcoholic.”

“ _Okay.”_

“Mr. Rogers, thank you so much for your help. I owe you and Nat so many fruit baskets. Have a good evening.” And with that, she walks away. Steve’s reminded of Nat and his own mother at the same time. It’s impressive.

 -

There’s a speech. While Steve’s tucking into a meal that he thinks might be worth more than what his salary in the military used to be, Tony jumps up on stage, thanks everyone for coming, throws out a few jokes before he gives them all a smile that is absurdly disconnected from his eyes, and leaves. He doesn’t come back to the table. Steve knows this is exactly the sort of thing that he’s supposed to keep an eye on, so he excuses himself from the round table.

He finds him under the stairs and on his knees, with a man who looks old enough to be his father shoving his dick down his throat. The man’s got two hands on Tony’s head and Steve just. Moves.

Before he knows it, he’s pulling a gagging Tony away from him. “What the fuck, man?” Tony snaps.

“Aww, if boyfriend wanted to join, all he had to do was ask,” the grey-haired man says. “I’m happy to share.”

“Uh, I —” Steve doesn’t know what to say. Tony had looked like he wasn’t really enjoying it but apparently that was not the case.

“En Dwi, honey, give me a minute,” Tony says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and pulling Steve aside. “I’m happy to play boyfriend for Pepper, but I’m not going to not have sex for however long it takes the stock to go back up. If you really want to be off help, you could go guard my honour or what not, and make sure nobody with a camera finds us.”

Tony Stark is such a child. It’s certainly a bizarre remark considering his current position, but it’s true. He had better do his job, them. Steve nods and takes a few steps from the stairs so he can keep a look out. It just doesn’t seem right. He doesn’t know if it’s the age difference, or how rough En Dwi was being, but it doesn’t sit right with him. But Steve’s here to keep Tony safe and play the boyfriend so the stock stops dropping like bricks. He’s not here to judge Tony and find him an irresponsible idiot of a genius who can’t think with anything but his damn dick.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony appears, sans En Dwi, with swollen lips and messed up hair, and heads back into the party with Steve on his tail. There’s Nobel-laureate Bruce Banner and an actual King, Victor von Doom sharing their table. When they return, the Latverian is talking to Banner about something in thermodynamics that’s too advanced for Steve to follow. Von Doom takes one look at Tony and then at the blush on Steve’s face; so obviously he puts two and two together to come up with five.

Oh. Well, this is what they’re trying to promote, right? This is fine. Victor flares his nose, and gives Tony a look that Steve mistrusts right away.

The rest of the dinner is uneventful, until Tony’s phone pings. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and well, Steve can’t really follow him without making Von Doom think even more salacious things about them. But after 10 minutes, he excuses himself as well, and heads towards the bathroom. If Tony wants to be stupid and keep running, he can, but Steve doesn’t have to make things easier for him.

There’s no one in the bathroom, but Steve finds an open window that leads to a raised roof. He rolls his eyes, climbs out the window, and finds Tony sitting on a very expensive jacket. His phone is on the ground, projecting a hologram of another phone. “J, did you take into account the weight of the glass?”

“I did, Sir.”

“You know if you just wanted to work, you could have told me.” Steve tells him as he walks towards him.

“Did that fact sheet say that you have to play a clingy boyfriend as well as a cockblock?” Tony asks, eyes still focused on the phone model.

“I don’t care if you want to sleep with other people. We’re not really dating, but you need to be more careful.” Tony’s lips are still swollen. Steve can’t stop staring at them.  

“And what about you? You realize your face is going to be plastered all over CNN soon, right? Are you going celibate for the next few months too?”

“I’ve got this thing called self-control, so I think I’ll be okay.” Steve says instead, but there’s no heat behind the words. Steve hasn’t wanted to be with anyone for years. His VA counselor had said it was PTSD-induced. Steve had said, no shit Sherlock.

In any case, Tony doesn’t need to know that.

-

They’re up on the roof for three hours. The guests are long gone, but Tony’s still neck-deep in coding. Steve’s bad hip is starting to complain at sitting on the cement floor of a roof, and the cold is starting to creep into his bones. He doesn’t even know how Tony’s still fine, when he’s got so little bulk to keep him warm. Worse that the cold, is the boredom. He’s already spent nearly two hours at war on Twitter with an actual neo-Nazi, but then his phone died and now he has nothing to do but stare at Tony Stark like a creep.

“Are you going to keep staring at me like a creeper?” Tony asks, eyes still focused on the StarkPhone prototype. Steve doesn’t know much about phones, all he does know is that when the StarkPhone hit the market, other phone companies took a major nose dive in sales. The StarkPhone is the single reason that leaving the weapons business didn’t cause bankruptcy for Stark Industries. And now, just a few months later, Tony’s working on the newest one. Steve is sure that one day, every family in the US will own one of these, and it’s being created by a tipsy twenty-year old on a roof.

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar. It’s okay, I don’t mind. I know I’m pretty.” Tony winks at him. Steve chuckles. They sink into soft silence again.

Soon, Steve is fighting a losing battle against sleep. But Tony doesn’t seem to want to move, and it’s not really his job to tell Tony where to go, so he stays there and tries car-watching.

He dozes, until suddenly, something shifts, something’s changed, and he’s alert and in defensive mode. When he sees that Tony’s laying a hundred-dollar bill at his feet, he takes a breath. _It’s okay. There’s no enemy here._ There’s just Tony. “What are you doing?”

“What, no! Why are you awake? Go back to sleep. I was being super stealthy!” The affronted look on Tony’s face makes Steve laugh, but he stops abruptly when he realizes what’s happening.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving you cab money. I called Happy to drive me home.”

“My bike’s at your place, though.” Steve picks up the money and hands it back to Tony.

“I don’t like being handed things.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says, putting the cash back down and sliding it towards Tony.

Tony picks it up and heads back down the window. Steve follows him. “So, you were just going to let me sleep on the roof of a random building in the middle of February?”

“I left you cab money!”

Steve goes home with a smile on his face. That’s when he realizes that despite the unnecessary amount of nudity, he’s going to like his job.

-

Tuesday evenings are designated as date nights. Pepper leaves him suggestions and tickets. Steve didn’t even know Hamilton tickets were available for the year anymore, yet Tony bitches and moans the entire way to the show. Nevertheless, he’s silent during, and for weeks afterwards, Steve can hear Tony singing, “Work!” to his bots.

At least once a week, Steve comes over for dinner. It starts with three weeks of Rollo’s pizza, and almost a fourth.

Tony’s in the lab, and about to drink what looks like kale and motor oil, courtesy of DUM-E. “No, put that down,” Steve says just as the drink reaches Tony’s mouth. “Take a break and have dinner.”

There’s nothing in the fridge but some expensive-looking bread and ham. When Steve looks for a toaster, he finds its remains on the floor. “I needed its parts!” Tony says, like that’s a reasonable excuse to leave the mangled corpse on the kitchen floor like a warning to all machines in its view, _be useful, or I’ll rip your guts out._

They slap some mayonnaise on the bread, throw ham on top of that, and then eat their sandwiches while standing in the kitchen.

On the fifth “date”, Steve comes prepared with a brown bag full of groceries. He keeps the bills and sends them to Nat though. He’s a vet, not a saint. A saint is what Natasha calls him, when she calls him into the office and asks him why he bought vitamin pills for Stark.

“Well if you crush it up and add it to his coffee, he’ll drink it all and not notice,” Steve explains.

“Alright, get the hell out of my office.”

-

When Steve used to be small and constantly sick, Bucky would message Steve to make sure he’d taken his meds, or eaten dinner, or drunk enough water. Now, Steve texts Bucky back, asks about his pain management, asks how the arm is, and reminds him of his VA group therapy sessions. Adding Tony to the daily texting ritual isn’t that hard, except with Tony, if he doesn’t get a reply after a few hours he knows to go over and make sure that Tony isn’t starving or being poisoned by his children in the workshop.

The first this happens, Tony threatens to kick him out, but allows him access when he produces the bag of Chinese take-out he had been hiding behind him. The second time around, Tony is so immersed in what looks like a rather complicated machine, so Steve sets the pizza box down and crashes on the sofa. It takes Tony an hour to realise he has a guest. Basically it results in Steve spending a lot of his free time hanging out with DUM-E and the other bots in Tony’s workshop. Tony gets caught up in his own world, and that’s fine, so Steve works on his portfolio for art school. He keeps a sketchbook in the workshop. The great thing with that is that there are far too many cool things in the workshop, so he always has something to sketch. The problem is that Steve prefers to draw people, and Tony is the only person in the lab excepting the bots. It’s embarrassing how many of his sketches are of Tony, but it’s good practice for life drawings. Lucky for him, Tony gets too caught up in his work to notice anything else.

If Steve’s there in the afternoons, he’ll catch sight of Tony’s high school interns Harley and Peter as they come in to give him updates on their respective projects.

Harley Keener is the brattiest kid that Steve has ever met; he gives Steve one look, then turns around to face Tony and says, “Your boyfriend looks like an actual superhero, don’t fuck this up. Also, sign off on my code already, it’s perfect.”

“Fuck you, kid. And also no. You didn’t comment your code, which is a dick move, go fix it. Then, I might sign off on it.”

Harley gives him a middle finger, then turns around. But before he stomps out of the lab, he stops by to pet all the bots first. Tony turns around but he’s facing Steve now, and so he catches the smile.

Two minutes later, Peter Parker walks in. Well, he walks into the glass door, eyes glued to his laptop. Steve’s up on his feet, ready to help him, but Peter just holds a finger to his lips from the floor. “I’m okay,” he mouths, then gets back up again. “Mr. Stark! Hi!”

Tony, who hadn’t even noticed the fall, finally turns to look at Peter. “Hey pipsqueak. How’s the web fluid synthesis coming along?”

“Well, the old formula worked, but it started losing tensile strength after thirty minutes,” Peter says. “I modified it, can you have a look?”

He hands his laptop over, and after that, Steve has no idea what they’re talking about anymore.

-

Rhodey’s been away in Afghanistan for six months now without a break, and a part of Tony kind of itches without having him around. They have scheduled calls on Wednesday mornings, though, and when he Rhodey calls and asks why Tony never told him he was actually properly dating someone, Tony has to explain the whole thing.

Once Rhodey stops laughing, he asks Tony if he’s really okay.

Tony tells him that his mom sent him cookies, so obviously he’s fine. “I’m in an actual warzone, but you’re the one getting care packages. Unbelievable.” Tony laughs and laughs, until Rhodey sighs, tells him that he loves him, and hangs up.

-

Steve’s at Bucky and Nat’s place in Astoria, peeling potatoes for dinner while the TV runs in the background. Bucky’s gotten a new arm fitting from SI, and he’s stopped rubbing at the joint, which Steve thinks is a win. Sam’s stuffing the chicken, because they may be at Nat and Bucky’s, but Sam’s the best cook out of all of them. (Sam is also the meanest cook out of all of them, so they fall in line and do as they’re told). Natasha is thankfully far away from anything flammable as she sets the table. “Hey, so I met the perfect girl for you Steve,” she tells him when she comes back into the kitchen for flatware.

“Did you forget setting me up with a fake boyfriend?” Steve asks, then uses his peeler to point at the television. “Look, we’re right there.”

“But you’re not actually banging that kid, right? _Right?”_ Bucky asks.

“Well, no, but imagine explaining that situation to someone I actually would be dating.”

“We could find a way,” Natasha says.

“Can’t you ever just let my love life be?”

“Nope.”

“But you’re not even good at it! Remember that time you set me up with a gay girl?”

“In my defense, Sharon hadn’t even realized she was gay at the time, how would I have?”

“You’re a disgrace, Romanoff,” Bucky tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But not as bad as you Steve. I mean it, Stevie, you’re 26, built like a shit brickhouse and literally the sweetest guy anyone could ever meet. Hell, if I were gay, I’d have asked you out a hundred times by now.”

“That’s gross,” Steve says at the same time that Nat says, “Not cute.”

“See this is what I mean! You’re all “I’ll call out anyone who’s being a problematic fuck and I don’t care and also I’ve owned a feminist t-shirt since I was five” – who isn’t going to love you? Guy, girl or otherwise?”

“Tony Stark definitely does,” Nat says, eyes glued to the TV.

There’s a picture of Steve and Tony at Milk Bar, Tony stealing his corn cookie. That was today morning. Tony has a conference call with Japan in the evening, so instead they had met for breakfast. That wasn’t Tony wanting Steve as much as wanting the last corn cookie even though he was literally eating a slice of crack pie for breakfast.

“Steve come on,” he tries to make his voice raspy like Nat’s, Bucky starts snorting. “You gotta give me a break. Pepper really needs someone trustworthy, and he’s a total pain but also, totally adorable. I need someone I trust on this, I’ll owe you forever, Steve—”

“Okay,” Natasha stops him with a palm over his mouth. “Fine, but this job isn’t forever. And what if it’s someone who already knows the situation? Like Sam? Sam’s still single.”

“Sam’s dating some flyboy, Nat,” Bucky says. “They were skyping the other day in the café and he shut his laptop something awful when I came in with Clint.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Sam retorts. “And I gave up on white boys in college. What about Bernie?”

“No, Bernie Rosenthal is not stupid enough to date you again,” Nat points out, heading back to the dining room.

“Hey, do you think you could get me a free paint job on the arm if you really date Tony Stark?” Bucky asks.

Steve throws potato peels at him. “The whole arm is already free, you jerk.”

-

Once a week, Steve is responsible for taking Tony somewhere, so the world thinks that they’re happily and ridiculously in love. The first time, it’s surprisingly sweet. They go to the MAD and see the Sonic Arcade exhibition. Tony’s usually dead bored by art, it’s just not his thing, but this — this is actually kind of cool. It’s engineering. They get tapas after and run away from the paparazzi but slow enough, so they can get some good pictures. Steve holds his hand firmly, and Tony’s smaller hands feel like they’re encased in a cocoon. Then Steve drops him off home.

Tony not-completely jokingly invites Steve up, and Steve agrees. “You’re right, it’ll make this more believable if I leave tomorrow instead.” That kind of hurts a little bit, because for a second, he’d almost thought this was a real date. Except Tony doesn’t go on real dates, because that would mean letting people get close, and he already has two people that are dangerously close, Pepper and Rhodey. He doesn’t have the capacity for a third.

Steve lets go of Tony’s hand once the elevator doors close on them, and it feels like Steve’s taking the heat with him. That’s right, Tony tells himself. He’s not doing this for you, this is his job.

-

Except Tony’s kind of an idiot so of course his heart disagrees and decides that developing a crush on his fake boyfriend is the smart thing to do.

-

Rhodey flies in for Tony’s 21st birthday party, and so of course he has to have a huge ass party with people from college like Rhodey —yay! — and Tiberius —urgh— and they’re going to open up the old mansion in Central Park for it. He’d rather hold it in the tower, but he’s not keen on that many people being in his penthouse.

It’s going to be fun and crazy but mostly, Tony can’t wait for the next morning, so he can have a greasy breakfast with Rhodey and talk about dumb shit all day.

Steve shows up again right as he’s stepping out of the shower. Tony doesn’t squeal like a child or cover up his chest like a maiden in a fantasy novel. And Steve doesn’t blush like a child. It didn’t happen. “I’m putting a bell on you.” Tony informs him, and Steve waits outside the bedroom.

They make it to the house by nine and the party is a full-on rager. There’s supposed to be a cake soon. Pepper’s already there with her girlfriend Maria; they’re talking to Rhodey, and Tony makes a bee line. “Honey bear!”

“Hey Tones! Happy Birthday!” Rhodey holds out his arms and Tony decides to fall dramatically into them. His arms are tight around him, and they’re warm and cozy, but Tony’s not five, so he reluctantly lets go.  

“You made it! You’re my favourite.” 

“Of course I did. Now, who’s your date here, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Rhodey says this with a wink, because he’s Rhodey.

“Right. Major, and soon to be Lieutenant-Colonel James Rhodes, this is my mail-order bride Captain Steve Rogers.”

“Yep, that’s me,” Steve says with a shit-eating grin and holds out his hand. Rhodey takes it with a smile.

“Nice to meet you. Army, right?”

“Yeah. 107th division.”

Rhodey is here. Rhodey is here, and Tony can’t stop smiling, his cheeks are aching from disuse. God, he’s missed Rhodey. He’s going to cling, and it’s fine because it’s Rhodey.

Rhodey never minds. “Okay stop flirting with my vet, what’s new, tell me everything, a little birdy told me you’re dating a vet in New York too.”

“Did you hack my e-mail?”

“Eww, who says hack anymore? Rhodey don’t be so old.” Tony pouts. “Oh, look! Cake!”

Once the candles are blown out and the pieces are handed out, Tony, wondering when he can stop throwing these lavish parties, finds himself having to make rounds. Steve follows him because that’s his job, and Rhodey and Pepper nurse their drinks and stay in a quiet-ish corner of the house. He doesn’t know half these people, but he says hello, thanks them, and then keeps going because that’s person 34 of 200. When he finally makes it back to Rhodey and Pepper, he’s had three more drinks and he’s holding onto Steve’s arm for support more than anything else. Steve is warm and he doesn’t mind. Tony pretends it’s not because he’s being paid for it. It’s his birthday, he can do whatever he wants.

The look on Rhodey’s face gives everything away.

“You have to leave early, don’t you?” Tony asks in a small voice.

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” Rhodey tells him, and there is nothing Tony would like to do more than hack the army database and change some shit around and station Rhodey in New York forever, but this is Rhodey’s life and his career. And Tony needs to be a grown up about it. He comes forward to hug Tony and it takes Tony a minute to return the hug, and then he doesn’t want to let go.

 _Everybody leaves,_ he tells himself. _Just get used to it._

He pushes Rhodey away, and says something, but he’ll never remember what, and then Rhodey is leaving.

Steve says something, but it doesn’t register. Tony turns around, looking for a waiter to grab a drink from, and instead he sees Whitney.

He’s four drinks in and he knows this is a terrible idea, and if Rhodey were here, he’d stop him. But Rhodey is gone and Tony’s cold. Whitney’s pretty and blonde and terrifying, and familiar. They’ve been doing this since they were both fourteen and fucked up private school kids in St. Moritz. So he walks straight up to her in the middle of the dance floor and kisses her. She kisses back, and he takes her upstairs to his bedroom, quickly, before Steve can follow.

When she reaches for his shirt, he puts her on her back and eats her out until she screams out her orgasm in his face. Her legs are over his shoulders and her nails dig into his scalp. This is familiar. This is good.  

“Now get inside me and do that again,” she demands, and he unzips his pants and she reaches for his shirt. For one second, Tony forgets, because he’s still reeling from Rhodey and suddenly there are hands inside his shirt and fingers on his scars, and she pulls back. “What the fuck?” She practically screeches. “What is that, show me what’s wrong with you.”

And at least with Whitney, it’s real because she’s never been one to walk on eggshells around him, not like any of the fangirls or celebrity chasers, no she’ll ask in the harshest way possible. She pulls the shirt off of him before he can stop her.

There’s a knock at the door, but it doesn’t click.

“Jesus fuck, is that what they did to you in Afghanistan? Look. I know this really good plastic surgeon, I’ll send you his number right away, he’ll fix you right up,” she keeps talking even as he’s pulling on his shirt and stepping further and further away. “It’s okay. He can fix anything.”

“Tony?” Steve’s knocking again.

“Oh, does your pretty boy toy wanna join?” Whitney asks, sitting up on the bed. She’s got one of her breasts out of her minidress, and that’s how she goes to open the door. “Well hi there, gorgeous.”

Steve is looking everywhere but at Whitney, and Tony would laugh but he really wants to be alone all of a sudden. “Honey, I can explain. I am so sorry.” Tony says, before mouthing “play along” to Steve.

Steve takes a moment to catch Tony’s eyes, and then fakes the biggest, sweetest broken-hearted expression that Tony has ever seen, what the fuck. “Tony? How could you?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Please, can we talk this out?”

“Or fuck it out?” Whitney asks, the queen of not reading the room.

“No, you need to leave. I need to talk to _my boyfriend,”_ Steve snaps at Whitney. The words make something in Tony tighten.

“Fine, but seriously, I’ll text you my plastic surgeon’s number. He’s even done serious burn victims before. He’s good,” She says as she fixes her clothing and walks out. Steve closes the door.

“Thanks,” Tony says.

“Do you want to head back down?” Steve asks.

“No thanks.” Tony crashes on his bed, and damn, was it always this small? It smells like sex.

Rhodey fucking left — this is some birthday party.

“You okay?” Steve asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s my birthday.” Tony closes his eyes. If he pretends, he can make Whitney go away. “I’m happy as pie.”

There’s a shuffling sound, and when Tony opens his eyes, Steve’s unbuttoning and removing his shirt. He’s wearing an undershirt and the tugs it out of his shirt. “I thought you weren’t going to sleep with me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just pulls off the undershirt. Tony stares. Steve points to a large patch of small, purple, raised scars that stretches from his left hip up to his nipple. “Kandahar, 2014. I got too close to an HE, and got hit by frag.” Then to a bullet scar on his right shoulder. “Jalalabad, 2015. Sniper.” He pauses. “The point is, I’m still alive. They failed. This is proof that I survived.”

Tony has no words. To him, Steve was perfection, except he wasn’t. “Tony, you survived. You beat them. That’s what these scars mean, and I think that’s beautiful.”

Tony nods, and Steve puts his undershirt back over his head, and shrugs into the sleeves of his dress shirt. He leaves it unbuttoned, showing off a sharp clavicle. Then he focuses on the wall behind Tony. “Is that a _Sandman_ poster?”

Tony sits up, happy to change the subject. “What?”

 _“Sandman_? Neil Gaiman’s comic about —”

“— I know who the Sandman is, yeah that’s a _Sandman_ poster, have you read it?”

“I grew up on comics. My mom had the entire first printing of the single issues.”

“ _WHAT?!”_ When Tony was younger, he would have done everything in his power to get himself first printings. He hasn’t read comics in years, but he feels like he’s twelve again.

“I still have them at home.” Steve tells him.

“That is a bold-faced lie, Captain Rogers.”

“Come over and I’ll prove you wrong.”

Tony opens his eyes and sits up. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Right now? What about the party?”

“This party got old thirty minutes ago, let’s blow this popsicle stand and let Happy deal with the rest. Unless you’re just bluffing,” Tony challenges. There’s an amused glint in Steve’s eye and Tony wants to see more of it. Steve smiles, and holds out his hand. Tony takes it.

-

They’re on Steve’s motorcycle, and if Tony’s alcohol tolerance was any less, he’d probably have fallen off by now. They’re somewhere in Brooklyn, some part of New York that Tony has never seen. There’s a chill in the air but his chest feels warm where it’s pressed against the smooth curve of Steve’ back.

They arrive at the apartment and Tony waits for Steve to check his mail. It’s empty, and Steve shuts it closed with disappointment in his face. Then they climb twelve flights of stairs because the elevators are broken. “It’s no tower, but it’s my home,” Steve says as he opens the door to his apartment. He takes his shoes off. Tony follows.

It’s all red brick and parquetted floors, with a kitchen, dining and living room all mushed into one big space, and two doors that must lead to the bedroom and bathroom. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure, what do you have?”

Steve opens his fridge and winces. “Well, there’s water, orange juice, or almond milk. Sorry, I don’t drink.”

Right. Steve doesn’t drink.

“Almond milk, please.”

And that’s how they end up sitting on the floor in front of the big IKEA bookshelf that separates the living room from the dining room, Tony drinking from his glass of almond milk while Steve pulls out the short storage box holding comics. And just like he said, there, sleeved and boarded, is a near-mint first printing of _Sandman #1_ , and the next 7 issues. “My mom loved these stories,” Steve tells him.

Tony looks at him. “Are you two close?”

Steve looks away. “We were. She died a couple years ago.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I know exactly how useless that is,” Tony replies, because it doesn’t make a difference. They’re not coming back no matter how badly you want them to. That’s a lesson Tony had learned the hard way.

Steve turns and catches his eyes. God, how can eyes even be that blue? It should be a crime. Maybe in the morning, Tony can sic Pepper on the Mayor and they could make that happen. “She was sick, but she never told me. Then one day Aunt Winnie’s calling me in Afghanistan and telling me I need to come home. By the time my plane landed, she’d died.”

“My parents wanted to go on vacation to the Bahamas for Christmas. Without me. My drunk old man wrapped the car around them both.” Sometimes he thinks if they’d wanted him enough to take them with him, he’d be dead too. Everyone would be happy then, his parents, and even Obie.

Steve places a heavy hand on Tony’s shoulder. “My dad was a drunk too. My ma left him when she got pregnant.”

“Your mother was a strong woman.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, she was.” His hair’s soft and flopping on his forehead. His hand is so warm. Tony wonders what it would feel like to have those arms wrapped around him. He leans forward quickly, before he can change his mind, and licks Steve’s lower lip before pressing their mouths together. Steve kisses back -- he’s so gentle -- and Tony knows now how it feels to have those arms wrapped around him as he’s dragged into his lap.

Then, just as quick, he’s back on the floor, and Steve’s standing up, hand on his mouth.

“Sorry.” Tony blurts out. “I guess I read that wrong. I’ll call Happy.”

“It’s three in the morning, I told him I’d get you home,” Steve says, voice strangled. “Just. Um. Look, why don’t you just crash in my room for now? I’ll drive you home in the morning. It’s Sunday and you don’t have anything in your schedule. I’ll just, um, I’ll get a change of clothes.”

Okay, they’re just going to pretend nothing happened. That’s cool. Steve heads to the bedroom, and Tony follows. “You’re way too big to sleep on this couch—”

“—it’s okay. Just, did you want sweatpants or—” He opens his chest of drawers and pulls out a pair of sweats that are about half a foot too long for him.

“—No, I’m good.” Tony says.

“Well, just help yourself to anything,” Steve tells him. “Happy Birthday.”

He closes the door behind him and suddenly it’s too quiet. He pulls off his blazer and shirt, then unbuckles his belt and steps out of his jeans. His phone he puts on the chest of drawers. There are pictures there, one of a young boy and a woman who has to be Steve’s mother, with those ocean blue eyes. Another one is of Steve with a group of soldiers. The 107th, he guesses. Another is just Steve and a man that Tony recognizes as Bucky Barnes, Nat’s husband.

Steve’s life is full of people, and it’s obvious how much in these pictures here. In one he stands with another soldier, the nametag reads Wilson. In another, there’s a beautiful brunette with warm brown eyes standing beside Steve, who’s smiling, bright and carefree. Tony traces that smile. God, Tony’s so stupid. This is just Steve’s day job. They might spend all day together, but Steve has a whole life outside of Tony. He was just being nice. Tony’s the one who doesn’t know how to separate human affection and sexual attraction.

Steve’s bed’s queen-sized, the backboard is made of two upcycled wooden doors. The bedsheets are a dark blue, and Tony climbs in, pulling them over himself. They smell like Steve. He presses his face into the pillow and shuts his eyes. “Happy fucking Birthday, Tony.”

-

The couch is harder than the bed, which isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes Steve forgets he’s not in Afghanistan anymore, and he feels like he’ll fall through the bed. He looks at the ceiling. He’s been looking at the ceiling for an hour now.

Tony must have fallen asleep already, but Steve can’t.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to. The attraction is there. Tony’s witty and funny and Steve has seen him give out hundreds of dollars in tips to hot dog vendors. But he’s literally just day one into age twenty-one and a car wreck waiting to happen. He sleeps with people like it’s a race and he’ll break Steve’s heart and he knows it. And Steve, well. Steve has left half his mind and a chunk of his heart in Kandahar and he’s at least 10 VA sessions away from a healthy relationship, let alone one with Tony Stark.

Tony’s so parched for affection and if Steve’s not careful, he’ll drown Tony in it.

He’s his mother’s son. If Sarah Rogers was strong enough to leave her drunk husband with a baby on the way, then Steve could be strong enough not to kiss his client, who’s five years younger than him. Tony’s not a child, except he never got to be a child and never learned to be an adult so it’s Steve’s responsibility to make the right decision.

-                                                                                                                                                                                                              

There’s a note on his phone, and a flat gift beside it. “Good morning, in case you wake up before I get back, I went for a run, I wanted to give this to you yesterday. I hope you like it. Help yourself to breakfast, I’ll be back by 10 otherwise and drive you back home.”

Tony looks at the clock. It’s 9:53 am. If he calls for Happy, he won’t be here on time to get out of this embarrassing situation but he doesn’t even have his wallet on him so he’s not sure how else to get home. The apartment’s cold, even for May, so he pulls the blankets around him and opens the gift.

It’s a charcoal sketch of him, wearing a batman t-shirt and sitting in his lab. He’s not working, in fact he’s sticking his tongue out at JARVIS, as he is wont to do, and DUM-E, U and Butterfingers are in the background, equipped with a banner that says, Happy Birthday, Tony.

At the bottom right corner is Steve’s neat signature.

There’s a knock at the door.

He might as well get it over with. “Come in, it’s your room.”

Steve enters sheepishly, a towel thrown over his neck and sweat trailing down his collar bone. The universe just hates Tony. “Do you like it?”

Tony looks away, at the picture and then back at Steve. “I do. Thanks.”

“I’m glad. Look, let me jump in the shower and then I can make breakfast, okay?”

“Okay.”

-

Tony takes a shower after Steve, and it’s torture. The whole bathroom smells like Steve; his cheap body wash that’s chockful of sulfates smell like Steve, and now that Tony’s washed himself with it, so does he. Okay, it’s okay. They’re just going to pretend none of that happened and move on.

-

Tony can’t tell Pepper, and he can’t tell Rhodey because Rhodey will tell Pepper, so instead he drinks a lot and stays holed up in his lab for five days. He lets Steve in when he comes by with food because otherwise Pepper would show up and start asking questions. Also, cause he’s hungry. One cannot live on stolen office snacks alone.

Things are… strange. They’re silently pretending that nothing’s happened, but that’s just not how it works, and that means that every moment of once calming silence threatens to choke him instead.

-

Two days later, they’re flying to Miami for the Stark Tower opening there. Pepper thinks it’ll look good if Steve goes along with him, so he does. Tony’s mansion in Miami is literally over the Atlantic Ocean, not that Tony spends a lot of time there. Steve plays tourist in Miami by himself, then gets bored and just spends the afternoons drawing in a café near the Tower.  He catches Tony before they head back to the mansion together, the hood open and a warm breeze flowing over them.

Steve watches the ocean, the same ocean he sees from New York, but it’s so different here. It’s warm and somehow more alive. Steve watches Tony, and he’s like the ocean, he looks healthier here. He looks safe.

Tony does 12-hour work days in the office and comes home and tweaks things for another five hours. On the first day, Steve had found a drawer full of take-out menus, and ordered pizza for them, paying with the employee credit card he’d been granted from SI. Tony had taken the plate and slice offered without a word, head still stuck inside the hologram. On day three, Steve figures out how to call for groceries, and decides to make a simple dinner – pasta and pesto with olives, dried tomatoes and walnuts. Tony takes the bowl, picking out his olives and dumping them not too subtly into Steve’s bowl.

-

The day of the Stark Tower opening in Miami is uneventful. Steve’s tired of playing tourist, and is sketching from home when he gets a frantic call from Bucky. “You have letters!”

“What? Are they acceptance or rejections?” Steve asks, crashing on the bed in his room.

“How would I know, I haven’t opened them. You’ve got four letters.”

They all came at the same time. Oh God. Steve’s been ignoring this for work but now it’s right in his face. “Okay, do you want to wait until you’re back or open it now?”

“If you need to organise accommodation and VA things, I would open them now,” Sam tells him. Oh Lord.

“Is everyone and their mother invited to this letter opening party?” Steve asks.

“No, Clint and Phil are out on a mission. My mom’s got the night shift,” Bucky shoots back. “Alright, which one’s the most important? Kubert right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. That’s the dream, to make comic books like the ones that his ma used to love reading with him.

“Then we leave that for last. NYU, what do you want?” Bucky asks with a flourish of paper. “Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you are accepted — I’m not reading the rest because obviously they have a crush on you, Steve!”

Pratt Institute gives him a reserve space, Brooklyn College accepts him. There’s only one left now. Kubert. “Stevie you ready?”

“Yeah.” One way or the other, he’s going to art school, but going to Kubert would be a dream come true. He closes his eyes as Bucky opens the letter.

“YOU GOT IN, STEVIE YOU’RE GOING TO KUBERT!” There are shouts and exclamations from the other side of the phone but Steve can’t move. His eyes are stinging. He sits down on the couch. “Stevie?

“I’m going to Kubert College,” Steve says, more to himself that to his friends.

“Well,” Sam says, “You need to call the VA counselor, now. Your deadline is tomorrow, and you know what they’re like.”

“Shit, yeah okay.”

“We’re really proud of you, Steve,” Nat says. “We miss you.”

“Thanks guys. I miss you too.”

“Now, hang up and call the damn VA, ya punk!”

“Jerk.” Steve hangs up.

-

That’s how Steve finds himself being transferred from one person to the next, until the words “This is Captain Rogers, 3490,” blends into one single sound.

By the time he’s gotten everything organised and written an e-mail to Kubert as well, he realises it’s nearly seven pm. Fuck. He’s going to be late to the Stark Tower Miami opening.

-

The opening of Stark Tower Miami is a complete success. The afterparty is, well. It’s the usual, full of all the board members and Stark Industries bigwigs. Yes, even the ones that weren’t sure if little Tony could do anything without Obadiah to spoon-feed him.

Well, they can all go fuck themselves.

Tony’s happy, he wants to shout, look how awesome this is, and when he turns around, Pepper’s talking to someone who seems important, not that Tony can remember. He looks around for Steve, who’s been on a museum run today. He’s supposed to be here. That’s his damn job.

He sneaks into an empty office room and checks his phone for any messages. None. Instead he makes a phone call. The satellite line is finnicky, but it does ring. No one picks up though. Tony hangs up. It’s high time he finds better entertainment. He doesn’t need anyone else to be awesome.

Victor von Doom is rich and the King of Latveria and he’s always invited to Tony’s things because he’s got a dangerous air about him that makes Tony go a little weak at the knees. 

They make it as far as Tony’s office. Tony shuts the door, and is about to turn on the privacy glass, when Victor shoves him up against the wall and kisses him. Tony’s missed this. Victor also has a giant unmistakable scar on his face that he’s insecure and proud of, so when he literally rips off Tony’s shirt and sees his recently deformed chest, all he does is grab his hips hard enough to bruise. Victor likes to manhandle him, so Tony isn’t surprised when he turns him around and presses his face into the glass wall. He wonders if Steve is going to come up and look for him. Steve doesn’t trust Victor.

“Stay there,” Victor orders him, and Tony does, as Victor reaches for Tony’s belt buckle and then quickly shoves his pants down to his knees.

“JARVIS, the glass please,” Tony manages to say, and then he chokes as Victor grabs his throat and then shoves two spit-slick fingers into Tony’s ass.  

This is good. This is better than feeling lonely like an idiot, so he lets Victor press and bite bruises into his skin and fuck him against the wall like Tony belongs to him. It’s so close. He’ll just close his eyes for a second and think it’s just right. Just for a second, it’s not a little bit too tight and too dry, and it’s not a hard glass wall but soft sheets made of silk, and the hands are still rough, but the kisses are gentle. Just for a second, he goes somewhere far away, and those arms around him are love.

Tony groans as he comes, his cock trapped against the wall; Victor laughs behind him. “Look at you, so gorgeous and needy. Such a good boy to come just on my cock.”

Tony leans back, resting his head on Victor’s strong shoulder, and the other man takes it as invitation to bite down on his neck and promptly come. For a second, he slumps against Tony, and then pulls away walks towards the garbage can to throw away the condom. Tony rests his forehead on the glass and catches his breath. Victor comes back, turning him around and kissing him on the mouth before he leaves.  

-

When Steve goes searching for Tony, it’s because he’s showed up late. He hasn’t seen him in a while and that’s usually not a good sign. He knows objectively that he has a good excuse. Getting into Kubert isn’t a joke, it means something. But, so does this. This was very important. This was making sure Tony was okay, and now he’s looking for his job and he’s not finding it in the hall with everyone else. “Steve,” he hears Pepper’s voice behind him. “Have you seen Tony? He’s supposed to make a speech soon.”

“I’m on it,” Steve tells her.

He takes the stairs one by one up to his office just in case. He catches Von Doom on the final set of stairs. “Mr. Rogers.”

Von Doom has sheen of sweat over his forehead and flushed skin, that tells Steve all he needs to know. “Mr. Von Doom.”

Two more steps, and he’ll be behind Steve, except he opens his mouth and says, “I suppose I should thank you for never giving it to him right, or he’d never have come running, begging for me to fill up that greedy little hole of his.”

Steve sees red. The next thing he knows, Von Doom is sitting on the stairs, holding his jaw. Steve thinks he should maybe apologize — he is a king after all. But his words come back to him and Steve’s ready to throw a second punch. “Don’t you _ever_ talk about him like that again.”

Von Doom grins, it’s bloody. “You’re adorable, so I won’t sue you this time. Good evening.”

He gets up and walks away. Steve on the other hand, runs up the stairs and toward Tony’s office, only to find him sitting shirtless on the floor with his phone in his hand.

-

Tony’s neck has finger marks around it. His neck is bleeding, so is his shoulder, the imprints of bitemarks still fresh. There are bruises beginning to bloom all over his torso, his scarred, skinny body that Steve can’t stop worrying about.

“JARVIS, could you please tell me where the nearest first aid box is?”

“Of course. It’s above the red shelving unit, inside the cupboard,” JARVIS tells him.

“Thank you.” He takes slow steps towards Tony. “Hey Tony. It’s me, Steve. I just want to disinfect those bite marks. Is it okay if I do that?”

Tony looks up at him like he’s in a fog, and then his eyes focus on him. “What. Sure. Why are you talking to me like that?”

“I,” Steve comes closer and sits down, opening up the kit beside him. “I don’t want to do anything without your permission.”

A moment. “Oh my God, Victor didn’t rape me. He’s just a bit rough around the edges. I don’t mind it. It’s hot.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that, like, well then why are you sitting on the floor with a ripped shirt in hand, or, why do you look so damn sad all the time, Tony? And why don’t people see it?

Instead, he stays silent, and wipes the cuts with hydrogen peroxide, then presses cotton over them and tapes them. Tony sighs when he’s touched, and Steve feels horrible, these scars are too much to be on skin this young. He wants to kiss each scar and memorize them, so Tony knows how much the person under it is worth to Steve. Instead, he hands him the button up that he’s wearing, he can live with a jacket and tank top until they get back to the mansion.

“Can we go home now?” Tony asks.

“You have a speech to give. Pepper’s been looking for you.”

“And then home?”

“And then home.”

-

The drive home is quiet, except for the one time that Tony makes Steve pull over, so he can puke out the liquid alcohol that was his dinner. Steve’s oddly quiet. Tony on the other hand, feels warm and safe, and he knows it’s just because he can smell Steve on his shirt, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling warm or safe.

There’s something wrong with Tony, he can feel it in his bones. He should be happy. He just launched a brand new zero carbon building, his company’s looking good, his CEO is happy and proud, he just had mind-blowing sex with an actual king. Instead he realizes that he’s going home to an empty bed and it makes him want to cry like a kid.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks him twice, and both times, Tony nods, because if he speaks, he knows his voice will crack.

They’re driving with the top down, which is why his eyes are tearing up this much, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t realize he’s arrived at the mansion until Steve’s taking him out of the car bridal style, like his feet may fail. They would.

Steve carries him into the house and up the stairs like he’s made of clouds and pulls off his shoes gently. Steve tucks him in and suddenly, Tony hates his big house with eight bedrooms. He could sleep in a new bedroom every day of the week and still have one left over. “Please don’t go.”

He doesn’t mean to sound so desperate, but it wasn’t enough. Usually, Victor, or En Dwi, or anyone else who takes half an hour to touch him will keep him going for a week. Suddenly, it’s just not enough. He’d been stupid, he let himself think about more than what he’d been given, about having more than just sex, and then his carefully constructed house of cards collapsed.

“Tony.”

“Please.” His eyes blur and he knows he’s being a big baby, but at the same time, if that’ll make Steve stay, he’ll do it a hundred times.

“Okay, okay. Let me take my shoes off.”

Tony sits up in bed and watches Steve pull off his shoes, belt, pants and jackets. It’s just boxers and a tank top now. Okay. Steve gets in the bed, and pulls the covers of them both. For a moment they’re still. Tony can feel his warmth even now. Suddenly, he can’t stop his shoulders from shaking or his eyes from tearing up. God, this is horrible.

But Steve doesn’t run away, or yell at him for being so sensitive like his dad used to, all the time. No, he takes Tony’s hand in his own instead.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there in bed together, until Steve takes a deep breath. “Why do you let them treat you like this?”

Maybe he’s drunk enough, or maybe it’s Steve, or maybe he’s just tired of pretending. Whatever it is, Tony opens his mouth, and before he can convince his brain that it’s a bad idea, whispers, “Sometimes, afterwards, they’ll hold me.”

Steve inhales once, short and quick. Thank the Earth for its rotation and night time because he’s not sure he could face Steve after having said that incredibly pathetic sentence out loud. Then suddenly he’s being turned, until he’s wrapped in Steve. The hand he’s holding onto is pressed between their chests, and if Tony’s given an inch, he’s going to take a mile. He presses his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. Steve doesn’t pull away.

-

Steve wakes up with a mouthful of Tony’s hair, and warm fingers on his chest. Tony breathes little tiny puffs against his clavicle, his legs are cushioned between Steve’s own. Steve climbs out of bed, changes into sweats and a t-shirt, and heads out. He hits the ground running and follows the road and the ocean.

He doesn’t really know how to face Tony today. There has been a paradigm shift. What Tony said last night, it broke Steve’s heart. And told him what he wasn’t ready to tell himself, that Steve was in love with Tony. And it was so easy — to reach for him in the dark and hold him close — without demanding anything from him, because Tony doesn’t have anyone, except for Pepper who’s usually on the other side of the continent or the planet, and Rhodey, who’s off fighting for a cause in a war Steve gave up on a year ago.

But Steve is Tony’s employee, and if he learned anything from the birthday party kiss, it’s that Tony is too young and too much to start a relationship with Steve. If he ever wanted to. It reminds him that Tony probably only kissed him because he was touch-starved and wanted to be held. And that’s what makes it hard. He works for Tony, and Tony doesn’t have anyone else.

-

Tony wakes up, and his head feels it wants to spin right off his head. He shoves a pillow over his head and tries to block out the light. “Morning,” Steve’s voice whispers from somewhere to his right. “I’m leaving you aspirin and water on the table. Come to the kitchen when you want breakfast, okay?”

Tony mumbles something that’s supposed to sound like an okay, and waits half a minute before peaking over the pillow for the all clear. He sits up too quickly, regrets his entire existence, and downs the water with the aspirin. Shower. A shower’s good.

He pulls off his clothes on his way to the shower, and only remembers his bandages once they’re soaked. Tony reaches for the bandage on his shoulder and slowly pulls it off, then does the same for the one on his neck.

He’s stalling, he knows, but he’s not looking forward to facing Steve after spilling his guts. Maybe he should get an NDA. Wait, Steve already has an NDA.

No. He can trust Steve.

Tony closes his eyes, lets the water hit his body. He reaches for his soap bar, lathers and uses his bath mitt. His skin is mottling blue and despite the ache, he scrubs until he feels clean enough.

He leaves the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and walks into his closet looking for armour. He needs a shield.

What he has is a smart pair of jeans and a button-up shirt, with a leather jacket over it that screams he means business. It makes him look a couple years older. It’ll do.

He walks to the kitchen and finds Steve having a cup of coffee with Pepper at the dining table. “What could I have possibly done in the last eight hours?”

“Good morning, Tony, how are you today?” Pepper asks, pointing to one of the chairs near her.

“I’m fantastic, Pep. What did I do?”

“Nothing. Seriously. If anything, you’ve been on best behaviour, or at least, Steve has. Stock’s up 25 points, we’re steady, and the Tower opening was a complete success. I’m in Brisbane for the next three months for that merger which is why I wanted to talk about this now. Steve, your contract with us ends in a little over a month.” She pauses to take a sip of her coffee. “I would like to renew the contract if you’re both up to it.”

Steve looks at Tony, then at Pepper. “I’m sorry. I would love to, but I can’t.”

“I thought you were happy with us,” Pepper says, putting down her coffee. Tony wants to repeat her words, but instead he stares at the piano nobody plays anymore. “Is it the salary?”

“No, ma’am, honestly you pay me far too much. I’m going away for art school, it starts in September,” Steve tells her.

“You’re going to college?” Tony asks the same as Pepper says, “Well, congratulations!”

“I could continue until Jul—”

“—no that’s fine,” Tony interrupts. He feels betrayed. All these months, they’d been playing at lovers, and he thought they’d been friends, but no, he’s just a job to pay for college. Because Steve is away. He’s leaving. “In fact, if we’re doing so well now, why don’t we just stop altogether?”

“Tony?” Pepper and Steve echo.

“You’ll be paid until the end of your contract, don’t worry. And I’ll get you a ride back to New York, obviously. But Pepper, you said this was just until the stocks were steady, and they are. So Pep, I think I’m done taking dating advice from you.”

Steve’s looking at him like he’s changed into some thing that Steve doesn’t recognize anymore. Too bad. They’re not friends, and it’s time they both remember that. Steve’s an employee. “I… I don’t need you to pay me if you don’t need—”

“It’s just company policy, Romanoff’s, I mean. Take it up with her.”

Pepper looks skeptical. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Tony says.

“Steve?”

“I – yes. It’s your call,” Steve replies. Yeah, it _is_ his call.

-

Steve waits until Pepper leaves. “What the hell did I do?” He asks Tony. His questions go ignored, by Tony getting up and walking out of the kitchen. No, he deserves an answer. He reaches for Tony’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “I thought we were okay. What did I do?”

“You were hired to do a job, which you did well, but we don’t need you anymore. It’s not like you’re not being paid. This is just business.”

The warmth that he’s seen in Tony’s eyes is absent, instead there’s a kind of cold fury. Steve doesn’t understand. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends?” Tony snaps, ripping his arm out of Steve’s hold. “We’re not friends. You literally get paid to hang out with me. What do I even know about you that’s you? That you used to be a soldier and you’re friends with Natasha? That you’re apparently going to art school? That’s what work friends are.”

“Are you mad because I’m going to art school?” Steve asks. He hadn’t brought it up because he wasn’t ready to think about it.

“I don’t care where you’re going. I don’t know you. Go find Happy and ask him to organise a flight back to New York. Good luck with your studies.”

“What is wrong with you?” Steve asks, his heart hurts. God, he knew this was going to happen. He knew this man was going to break his heart. He’d shared his home with Tony, shared his history. “You know we’re friends. What about last night?

“Get over yourself. There’s no difference between you and any other fuck in the world. I didn’t have to suck your dick to get you to give me what I wanted. You’re not special. You’re just easy.”  

Steve goes cold all over. He was wrong. He didn’t know Tony. He has no idea who this man is. He was so wrong about him. He doesn’t say anything else, just stares at Tony with wide eyes until Tony walks away. Steve walks upstairs to the guest bedroom and starts packing.

-

Happy drops off Steve near his apartment. He grabs a couple of tacos on the way home from a food truck near his place, and by the time he’s inside, he’s ready to collapse on his bed and sleep.

When he makes it to his bedroom, there are intruders in his bed. “Are you two fucking kidding me?”

“We missed you,” Bucky says, sitting up and staring at Steve with bleary eyes.

“We didn’t fuck on the bed,” Natasha tells him, eyes still closed. “Well, we fucked in the kitchen, but we cleaned up.”

“Guys!”

“Wait, what’s wrong with you?”

Steve dumps his bags on the floor and shrugs out of his shirt and jeans. “Nothing. SI doesn’t need me anymore.”

“But you’re being paid—”

“—up to and including next month,” Steve finishes Nat’s sentence.

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He takes an extra pillow and crashes on his couch.

-

“Did something happen between you and Steve?” Pepper asks him a few weeks later. They’re in his office, looking over some tech mergers that Tony really wants Pepper to approve.

“No, why would you say that?” Tony replies with a question. “These guys are hacks – they’re literally copying that MIT kid’s Ph. D thesis.”

“Riri Williams?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call legal, see if she’s aware and offer some help.” Pepper makes a note on her StarkPad. “You could have just let him finish the month. I thought you guys were friends.”

“That was literally his job, Pep. The wonder twins are almost done with their internship, did we decide on who’s taking over?”

“And nothing happened? I like this one. Bruno Carrelli. He even spent an exchange year at Golden City Polytechnic Prep.” Pepper sets the file in front of him to pick up.

“No, _God._ Man, what I would have done to have a Wakandan student exchange program when I was in high school,” Tony muses. “What about Lunella Lafayette? She had some cool shit.”

“No, she’s nine. Wait until she’s a bit older.”

 “ _Fine._ I mean, I was building grenades when _I_ was nine, and I turned out great.”

“That’s debatable.” Pepper gives him a pinch of a smile, then stands. “Look over the final ten and let me know when you’ve picked someone. I have a meeting with a potential sponsor for that crazy car idea of yours. And one final thing. I’m here if you need me, you know that right?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yes, boss.”

-

Nat offers Steve a couple of security jobs, temporary ones that pay well. He sketches for hours. He hangs out with Bucky and Nat, and has dinner with the Coulson-Barton bunch. He goes running with Sam. He sees Tony on the news a couple times, and he wishes he could just get angry, but for that to happen, the hurt must fade first.

Nat sits him down once and asks him what the hell is going on and whether she needs to kill Tony Stark. “It might put a damper on my friendship with Pepper, but it’ll be worth it.”

Steve tries to laugh, but all he can do is look out the window of his apartment and try not to wince.

“Oh. Steve tell me you didn’t go and fall in love with that basket case of ego and insecurities.”

“Wish I could do that, Nat.”

Nat calls Bucky and Sam to come over, pours him way too much vodka and he wakes up in a cuddle pile in his living room floor. It doesn’t make thing completely right, but it’s good.

-

Three months pass.

Tony works. He doesn’t attend any charity events, letting Pepper show off Maria Hill and keeping the limelight off of him. Pepper seems happy, Tony’s glad. Harley and Peter finish their internship in July and leave with a nice bonus and letters of recommendation — written by HR, signed by Tony — and the promise of a free ride to any university of their choosing, and no obligation to return to Stark Industries afterwards. They rush him together, and Tony ends up on the workshop couch with both their arms around him. He tries to push them away, but they hold on tight. Tony’s neck is wet with their tears, the babies.

-

Tony opens e-mails he should have opened months ago, finds a charity water dinner at the Met that he hadn’t RSVP’d to, and does just that. He doesn’t have a date, but that’s fine, he may have come here alone, but he’s definitely not leaving alone.

Victor’s there, and he’s not seated at the same table as Tony, but that’s not a problem. He smiles for the cameras, waits for the speech to end because Pepper’s sitting beside him and glaring something awful. “Tony, eat your dinner.”

“Pep, come on.”

“No. You can sleep with that creep after you’ve eaten and played nice. I _know_ all you had today was a kale smoothie and five cups of coffee. And don’t even think about doing it here, that’s just gross. Take him somewhere with a bed, and opaque walls.”

“Fine.” Tony eats the sustainably-sourced fish — that’s what it says on the napkins — and downs his white wine. “Can I go now?”

Pepper shakes her head. “Be —”

“Discreet, I know. I got this. I’m all grown-up now, remember? _The Economist_ said so.”

Pepper laughs. “I know. I’m proud of you.”

“When you said a relationship with you meant pseudo-raising Tony Stark, I should have taken you more seriously,” Maria quips.

Tony mock frowns at her. “If that’s the case, you’re going to need my approval, and I’m undecided.”

“Okay honey, now remember, no glove, no love,” Maria says. “Okay, what other parting tidbits of knowledge can I impart unto you? If you don’t want hemorrhoids, then use water-based lube and take it really slow—"

“I’m going to go now before you two scar me for life,” Tony says as Pepper shushes Maria. Tony leans in to press a kiss to Pepper’s cheek. She cups his neck and presses their cheeks together.

“Okay. Get home safe, Tony.”

“Sure thing, boss.” He sticks his tongue out at Maria and excuses himself from the rest of the table. He catches Victor’s eyes and makes his way out to the side entrance, calling for Happy on the way.

Victor arrives just as Happy pulls up into the side entrance. “Fancy seeing you here,” Tony says. “Care to keep me company?”

Victory smiles this arrogant, cocky smile, and leans in to kiss Tony on the cheek. Victor can be a gentleman when he wants to be. “It’s my pleasure.”

They’re on each other the moment Happy starts to drive, Tony climbing onto Victor’s lap to grind against his crotch. Victor grabs his ass with both hands and kisses him, hard. He’s so grabby.

Tony’s glad it’s Victor and not someone else.

-

Victor shoves him face-first into the bed and sucks a bruise high on the back of his neck before he opens him up. Tony closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of his hands tight on his ass, his teeth nipping his ass. Victor’s in a weird mood, he fucks him with two, three, then four fingers until Tony’s eyes are tearing from the stretch. Then when Victor finally enters him, he almost feels loose, but it seems to do it for Victor, who presses into him incessantly, one arm wrapped possessively around him and another squeezing the back of his neck. Tony can’t breathe right, and he doesn’t mean that in the good way.

“There we go, sweet boy. You’re such a filthy little boy for me, let me loosen you up like a little whore. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good. That boy scout ex of yours could never make you come like this,” Victor tells him as he pumps in and out. It’s not the most comfortable feeling, but he can live with it if Victor keeps holding him. And maybe shuts up.

“Couldn’t fuck you right, then got mad when I did, well we don’t need him,” Victor continues. Without warning, Victor moves the arm around Tony’s torso and fists his leaking cock. He jerks him off, hard and dry. “Not when you have this. Come on then, come now. Come harder than you ever did with Steve.”

Tony comes with a sob, his vision full of Steve at the mention of his name. He’s shaking, but Victor speeds up, orgasming with a particularly hard thrust before collapsing on top of Tony. He feels crushed, but he can still breathe somewhat, so he allows it.

When he can think clearly, he asks, “What do you mean, he got mad?”

Victor’s sucking more hickeys down his neck. He stops to smile against Tony’s skin. “Well, let’s just say he’s lucky I wasn’t in the mood to press charges.”

Okay that’s odd. He’s going to have to talk to JARVIS about this.

Victor stops after he leaves one last love bite. “I’m needed in Latveria tomorrow. I’m taking a shower. Your driver will take me to the airport afterwards.”

“Sure, yeah,” Tony mumbles.

“Will you join me?” Victor asks.

“I’m just going to lie here for now,” he replies. Victor chuckles and walks towards the shower.

-

Victor leaves him with a kiss to the forehead. “Until next time.”

-

Once he’s left the building, Tony sits up in bed. He shouldn’t care, he shouldn’t. Steve isn’t in his life anymore, who cares. Right? Right.

“Hey J, any idea what happened between Victor and Steve?”

“There was a slight altercation between them in Stark Tower Miami the night of the opening.”

“Show me.”

A security camera feed plays. They’re on the stairs near his office. There’s no audio, and Victor’s facing away from the camera, so Tony can’t even lipread. The next thing he knows, Victor’s going down, and Steve is snarling, “Don’t you _ever_ talk about him like that again.” The fury in his face is unmistakable. Victor stands up and walks the rest of the way down the stairs.

Suddenly he feels wrong. His bed smells wrong and he can’t sleep here. His skin feels wrong and his limbs feels wrong, so he climbs out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom, but the bathroom smells wrong, so he grabs his bathrobe, sweats and a t-shirt, and heads towards the shower in the guest room.

He showers quickly but gingerly, his entire shoulder hurts. It’s supposed to be a reminder of Victor around him, but suddenly he wants the bruises gone, _now._ He doesn’t want to look at them, so he gets out, towel dries quickly and dresses. The guest room feels foreign. Rhodey hasn’t stayed here for so long that it doesn’t even smell like him anymore. Instead Tony wraps the bathrobe around him and walks barefoot into his workshop. Butterfingers and YOU wake from their charging stations, but good old DUM-E actually leaves his station to come closer and greet Tony.

“Hey buddy,” Tony pats his console, then rubs small circles on the arm. “I know, I was gone all day. I missed you too.” DUM-E holds out his hand for a high five. “Yeah, right. High five. Now go back to your charging station, you need food, or you’ll literally die.”

DUM-E headbutts him and heads back to his charging station. “Silly old thing,” Tony muses.

He lies down on his trusty old couch, grabbing a throw pillow to hug. His shoulder doesn’t feel happy, and something’s not right about the sofa, and he just wants to cry. It’s his fucking sofa. What’s wrong with Tony now? He turns, and oh, there’s something hard under here. He’s probably lost a screwdriver under there or something. He pulls out the seating cushion and sees a black sketchbook.

He knows that sketchbook. Steve used to sit in this very workshop and sketch away while Tony was working, waiting for him to finish up so they could go on a fake date, or just staying here so it looks like Steve spends a lot of time in the tower. Steve never did tell him what he was drawing the whole damn time. It was private. He sits on the floor and looks at the sketchbook.

He’d had people take all of Steve’s stuff over after he’d left. And Steve hadn’t come by asking for this, as far as he knows. If it was really important, he would have taken it with him, not forgotten it in his client’s lab. Right? Right.

He takes the book in his hand and he’s shaking a little bit because suddenly he can smell Steve, eucalyptus aftershave and all. He can see that furrow in his eyebrow as he’s drawing on the couch.

The first sketch is a landscape from the café across the street. Stark Tower looms in the sky, the architectural details are stunning. The next is obviously Nat. The next is a man with a prosthetic arm that has Tony’s last name on it. Then a sketch of the bots. One’s just the miniature arc reactor Tony’s been working on. Then, in black ink, his own face stares back at him. He flips the page before he gets a good enough idea of what Steve thinks of Tony. But the next is him again, and again. In the lab, on the couch. Sometimes it’s him in poses or clothes that don’t belong to him, as if Steve imagined them. One is a close-up of his eyes done with charcoal, and Tony didn’t even know his eyes could be that alive on paper. He turns the page. It’s Tony again, of course it is. He’s sitting on the floor, looking at Steve with a smile that betrays how much the observer means to him.

Was it all a joke to Steve? What does this picture even mean? Why is it so obvious to everyone in the world that Tony’s pathetic and lonely and doesn’t know how to be an independent adult?

Tony stands up abruptly, taking the book with him. He doesn’t even realise where he’s going until he finds himself in his garage, opening the door to the nearest car.

-

Steve startles awake at the sound of his doorbell. He nearly jumps out of bed, then reaches for a hoodie and turns on the speaker. “Who is it?” he asks blearily.

Silence.

“Alright, very funny—”

“—it’s me.” Steve stops breathing. “Tony. Tony Stark.”

Wordlessly, Steve lets him in. He opens the door and waits for Tony to come up the stairs. When he does, he’s in pyjamas and a bathrobe. He stands at the top of the stairs, hands wrapped defensively around a black sketchbook.

Steve knows that sketchbook.

“Can I come in?” Tony asks, and oh, Steve is never going to be able to say no to those brown eyes. He moves out of the door frame, and Tony walks in. He takes off his house slippers. He’s not even wearing socks.

“Would you like a drink?” Steve asks automatically, and Tony, looking surprised, turns around and nods. He doesn’t ask Tony for something specific, instead he just closes the door behind him and heads to the kitchen.

He busies himself with the coffee machine. He doubts he’ll go back to sleep after this, and Tony’s not really affected by caffeine. Steve hates that he still knows that. He hates that even after someone leaves, there’s bits and pieces of them that Steve’s mind just can’t forget, like how Tony takes his coffee.

-

When he walks to the living room with two cups of coffee, he finds Tony sitting on his couch, sans bathrobe. He’s still clutching the sketchbook.

Steve puts the coffee mugs down on top of the coasters on his coffee table and considers where to sit. In the end, there’s enough space on the couch for both of them and safe space between, so he sits on the other side and turns to face Tony.

“I. I came to return this. I found it in my couch. I couldn’t sleep on it.” Tony holds out the sketchbook. Steve takes it.

“Thanks.”

Tony nods. He rolls his shoulder. Steve puts the book over a set of filled sketchbooks under the coffee table.

They sit in silence drinking coffee. “Tony, why are you here?”

“To return your sketchbook.”

“At four in the morning.”

“Yeah. That’s not weird. Why are you saying that like it’s weird?” Tony asks.

“Sure, Tony,” Steve says. “Well, thanks for returning it.” He stands up, hoping Tony will leave. He doesn’t know why he lets himself hope for better. Tony doesn’t get up. “Is Happy waiting for you downstairs?”

“No.” Tony crosses his legs on the couch. “Why did you punch Victor in Miami?”

Steve clenches his jaw hard just thinking about it. He wants to punch Von Doom again. “He was being disrespectful.”

“What did he say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He’s not saying those words out loud. “You can’t be intimate with someone and then turn around and disrespect them.”

“You really took your job to play my boyfriend well.”

 _Play my boyfriend._ Steve regrets having taken this job more than anything else in the world. He can’t listen to the derision in Tony’s voice, and yet remember exactly how the length of Tony’s body feels pressed against Steve’s.

This might be his one chance to just get everything out in the open and move on though.

“It didn’t take much acting, Tony,” Steve says. “It only took me a couple of months to fall completely in love with you. I was working for you, and you’re so young. You throw your whole self at other people with the hope that they’ll maybe just take care of your heart too. You’re so careless with your own heart, and I didn’t want you near mine. And every time I did let you in, like on your birthday, we got too close. You kissed me and I’m never going to be able to forget what that feels like. But Tony I don’t want to sleep with you so you have someone to hold. I want it to be because you want _me_ to hold _._ Because you love me.”

So there.

Tony stands up. He’s going to leave now, and at least Steve will be able to heal, to move forward. He closes his eyes, because even now he doesn’t want to watch Tony leave.

He nearly bolts when he feels two warm hands cup his face. Opening his eyes, he sees Tony looking up at him with shiny eyes. “But I do,” Tony whispers, and kisses him.

It nearly kills Steve to grab him by the shoulders and push him back. “Don’t. Don’t. Why can’t you understand? You can’t just play with people’s feelings like that —”

“— I fell in love with you in April, when you asked me if there was anything you could do to fix DUM-E’s creaky arm. You spent half a day sitting there, covered in motor oil and dust, oiling every hinge he had, and then doing the same for Butterfingers and YOU. No one else has ever done that but me.”

“Tony…”

“You were just going to leave in September for art school, and you didn’t even tell me,” Tony’s voice cracks and Steve is always going to be weak when it comes to him. He rushes forward and gathers Tony up in his arms. Tony’s sobbing now, his arms wrapping around Steve’s shoulders. “You didn’t care.”

“I do, I love you. Tony, I love you.” Steve presses kisses to his forehead, his hair, grabs him by the jaw and kisses him on the mouth, fiercely. “I got the phone call during the opening of Stark Tower Miami. It’s why I ran so late. I didn’t have the time to tell you… but I do. I love you.”

-

Steve can’t stop touching Tony. He spreads him out on the sofa, kisses down his neck and even further, until he reaches the elastic of Tony’s pants. Then he tugs the t-shirt up and over, so he can run his hands and mouth over Tony’s skin. A litany of smaller scars covers his torso, as well as a larger one at his chest where his heart is. This is all familiar to Steve. These look like the consequence of shrapnel.

Tony nods slowly, the carefully reaches for Steve’s chest. He presses his hand over his heart and closes his eyes. He’s too far away, so Steve grabs him and pulls him closer, in the process throwing an arm over his shoulder. At that, Tony winces. Steve pulls away. “Are you okay?”

Tony looks away. The turn of his body reveals the pattern of love bites on his neck and shoulder. Steve kisses the one right below his ear. “Was this consensual?” Steve asks carefully.

“Yeah.”

Steve has to admit that his baser instincts do want to take over. He is jealous. He wants to wipe those away and press his own hickeys into Tony’s skin. But he hates the ashamed look on Tony’s face more. “Hey, you don’t owe me an explanation or an excuse.”

Tony smiles and kisses him quickly. “I know I was kind of a whore during the six months you played my boyfriend, but, I can do exclusive. I can. I don’t want anybody but you. You should know that.”

Steve doesn’t smile at that. “Please don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Tony tilts his head and looks up at Steve. “It’s true. I am kind of a whore.”

“Hey, that’s my boyfriend you’re talking about,” Steve says instead with a quirky smile. “I’ve punched Victor von Doom for less. Be careful.”

Tony blooms like flower, bright and beautiful, and his soft smile gives that feeling away when Steve swallows it.                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

-

They don’t progress much further than kisses, so many kisses, because Tony wants to do this right. He always goes straight for the sex and with Steve, he does want him, for sure, but he also just wants to sit on this sofa and cuddle forever. Steve loves him.

Tony wants to light up the sky with those words because they’re so strange and brilliant and amazing. Steve Rogers loves Tony Stark.

They fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing.

-

Tony is woken up by the smell of bacon and eggs. He climbs out of the sofa, takes the blanket Steve covered him with, and uses it as a cape as he enters the kitchen. On his way, he sees flyers and portfolios, and more sketchbooks covering the dining table. There’s a brochure sitting on top of it all.

That’s right. Steve was going away to college.

“Good morning,” Steve says from the kitchen.

“Morning,” Tony mumbles, picking up the brochure. Steve walks towards him with a cup of coffee, handing it over and leaning in from behind to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead. Steve’s arm comes around Tony’s waist, and he presses his back against Steve’s strong chest.

“It’s the Kubert School,” Steve says. “I’m starting in September, but it’s only a three-year programme, and it’s not that far.”

“Wait, this is that comic book school, right?”

“Yeah.”

“The one in New Jersey?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my God, you’re moving to _Jersey?_ ” Tony fakes gagging noises. “That’s disgusting!”

“It’s only for three years.”

“Oh my God, but _Jersey?_ You might as well be back in Afghanistan. _”_

Apparently, Steve’s strategy for stopping Tony from telling him cold, hard facts is to kiss him senseless. Lucky for Steve, it works.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please check out Hell_13th's artwork page and give her some love.


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